


Safe House

by lettersandsodas



Series: Catching Signals that Sound in the Dark [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Breathplay, F/F, Her Name is Root, Kink, but also canonically a breathplay bottom, root is a top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 18:26:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7325704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettersandsodas/pseuds/lettersandsodas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The safe house is far from the worst place Shaw’s ever been, but in the moment, it feels close. After Root injects the operative with a sedative and Shaw drags him to the bathroom, all they have in front of them is a long stretch of time to kill.</p><p>Shaw doesn’t like killing time. She much prefers to kill bad guys.</p><p>Or</p><p>A fic in which Root and Shaw are stuck together for ten hours and maybe sort of have sex. Which leads to future parts in which they have a lot more sex and also don't talk about feelings that they may or may not have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe House

**Author's Note:**

> This fic includes kink, and will continue to in any future parts. It also includes violence because, hi, Root and Shaw.

It all starts in the CIA safe house.

The safe house is far from the worst place Shaw’s ever been, but in the moment, it feels close. After Root injects the operative with a sedative and Shaw drags him to the bathroom, all they have in front of them is a long stretch of time to kill.

Shaw doesn’t like killing time. She much prefers to kill bad guys, and right now she’s bored, and hungry, and craving steak. She’s already rummaged through the refrigerator twice hoping to find something worth eating, but all that’s in there besides condiments is a bag of wilted lettuce and a container of plain yogurt that expired three weeks ago. Apparently, CIA guys aren’t big on keeping the office larders stocked. Shaw feels vindicated for never having liked them.

She’s keeping herself busy walking the room and considering the merits of chugging a container of salad dressing when Root interrupts her reverie.

 “You know,” she says, amusement teasing at the corners of her mouth. “We’re going to be here for awhile. You might as well have a seat.”

Shaw sighs. “Whatever.” She collapses onto a chair with a huff of frustration and grabs an apple from the bowl. Rabbit food is better than nothing, she guesses. “I can’t believe the machine sent us here ten hours early.”

“The Lord works in mysterious ways, Shaw,” Root says with a grin. She watches Shaw tear into the apple, and her eyes are so bright and focused that it’s actually a little creepy. Or it would be if Shaw were the type who got creeped. “Personally, I think she wanted us to have some bonding time.”

Shaw scoffs around her mouthful of masticated fruit, sending some flying onto the table. Really, if Root’s going to stare at her like that when she eats, then she deserves whatever she sees.

“I don’t bond,” she mutters. “Especially not with you.”

“No need to be rude,” Root says, and Shaw gets the overwhelming urge to punch the pouty look off her face. Instead, she finishes the apple and tosses the core to the ground, wiping her hand on her pants and reaching for her phone. She’s not much for games, normally, but with ten hours to kill and nothing else to do in the meantime, that first-person shooter app she downloaded earlier is looking pretty good. Maybe it’ll help her stay sharp during what she suspects is going to be a very long night.

Root’s still staring at her—Shaw can feel it—but she ignores her as she waits for the game to load. As long as Root’s not trying to tase her or drug her or, worse, talk to her, Shaw figures she can deal with a little staring. She loads up on ammo and starts the first level.

Unfortunately, Root’s silence is short lived. Just as Shaw is blasting some evil agents to smithereens, Root pipes up with, “To the right. Behind the dumpsters.”

“What?” Shaw glances up at Root and looks back down just in time to see her screen go red. “Hey, what the hell?”

“There was a henchman hiding behind those dumpsters,” Root supplies, pointing at Shaw’s phone. “Too late, though. Better luck next time”

Shaw’s jaw clenches with rage. “Okay, you could not possibly have seen that from there.”

Root makes an attempt at a wink. “She sees everything, Shaw. Plus, She’s feeling very chatty tonight.”

The Machine. Right. Shaw growls and tosses her phone on the table. Nine and a half more hours. This is worse than that time she’d gotten food poisoning in Khost, and people had been trying to kill her then.

Shaw sits in stony silence after that, but, of course, Root refuses to play along. When she’s not trying engage Shaw in inane conversation, she’s giggling and tittering over whatever Our Lady of the Supercomputer happens to be telling her at that moment. Shaw wishes desperately that she could go to the bedroom and put a pillow over her head to block out the noise, or maybe just choke Root into unconsciousness. But she doesn’t trust Root not to do anything crazy or underhanded if she’s left on her own, and, sadly, an unconscious Root means no warnings from the Machine if anything is going down. She can’t risk it. 

“I’m taking a shower,” Shaw grunts, and stands abruptly to make her way to the bathroom. She hasn’t gotten a chance to bathe since Root dragged her out of bed the previous night, and she’s not sure when the next opportunity will be.

Root, of course, looks decidedly too interested. “Need a hand soaping your hard to reach places?”

“Try it and I’ll break your wrist,” Shaw snaps. She steps into the bathroom grabs the unconscious operative by his feet, drags him over to the bedroom. She fishes his keys out of his pocket before she turns back to Root and fixes her with a pointed look.

“Wrist against the leg of the table.”

Root raises her eyebrows, but Shaw just looks at Root’s hand, tips her chin toward the leg. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Root breaks into a smile. “Are we at the part of the evening where you tie me up, Agent Shaw?” Her voice is amused, like this is all a joke, but she does as she’s told anyway. Shaw grunts in approval and grabs a zip tie from the drawer. She dangles the keychain from it and loops it around Root’s wrist.

Shaw has always found the little “zip” sound of the tie locking into place satisfying, and apparently she’s not the only one. Root’s eyes darken as the tie forces her wrist against the wood of the table leg, and Root exhales a shaky little breath when the plastic digs into her skin. Shaw has to hide her smirk.

Root flexes her wrist against the cuff, comments in that faux innocent voice of hers, “You know, Sameen, this doesn’t feel very secure.” She’s right, of course. CIA zip ties are heavy-duty, but even so, the angle of the binding is awkward. Root could probably slip out of it if she really wanted to, or maybe just lift the table. Shaw would go with option two if it were her—less scraped skin that way—but she has some doubts about Root’s upper body strength.

Not that it matters. “I don’t need to make it impossible for you to escape,” Shaw tells her. “I just need to make sure that it’s loud enough that I can get out here in time to shoot you if you try.” She jingles the keys attached to the zip tie, smirks triumphantly at Root.

Root looks impressed. “Clever.”

Shaw hums in agreement and makes her way to the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. And locking it, just in case.

The hot water feels good on her stiff muscles, and Shaw allows herself a little groan of pleasure as she props herself against the wall and lets it run over her back. Shaw prides herself on being in shape, but the truth is that there’s no amount of working out that can prepare someone for the sheer joint-locking, spasming agony of a good tasering. Everything hurts after. Not that Shaw minds, really, but still…a hot shower and a nice pulse setting do wonders for soreness.

Unfortunately, she doesn’t get to enjoy them for as long as she’d like. She’s just finished rinsing the conditioner out of her hair when she hears a steady jingling of keys from the living room.

Son of a bitch.

Shaw wraps a towel around herself, grabs her gun, and throws open the bathroom door.

She’s not sure what she expects to see when she steps out into the living room with her gun drawn and ready, but it’s definitely not Root with her free hand down her pants, her head thrown back and her mouth open as she rubs frantic little circles between her legs.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Shaw snarls, and Root has the nerve to _moan_ when her eyes flit to the gun Shaw has trained on her.

“Shaw,” Root says breathlessly as she slides her hand out of pants, rests it on her thigh. “My fault. I thought we had more time.”

“We?” Shaw demands. She’s pretty sure the look in her eyes is murderous as she lets her gaze drift between Root’s flushed face and the slickness that she can see gleaming on her fingers. She was enjoying that shower that Root so rudely interrupted. If Root thought she was going to embarrass Shaw, make her look away and blush, she has another thing coming. Shaw doesn’t get embarrassed. Even if she is in what is objectively the most inappropriate, weird situation ever.

“She likes to talk me through it sometimes,” Root says, like that’s anything close to a reasonable explanation. Shaw shakes her head in disbelief.

She’s stuck in a safe house with a masturbating lunatic who apparently gets off while talking to an electronic god. How the fuck is this her life?

“Just…” Shaw starts, and then trails off because really, what can she say. She lowers her gun. “Whatever. I’m going to finish my shower. You have five minutes, and I swear to God, Root, if I come out to find—whatever this is…”

She shakes her head again as she slams the bathroom door.

What. The. Fuck.

Shaw feels anger course through her, pure and bright. It makes her hands rough as she scrubs soap over her body. Who does that? Shaw is a sociopath with no modesty and a tendency toward irresponsible thrill-seeking behavior, and even she doesn’t do that. Seriously. What was Root thinking?

Her mind flits to the way that Root had responded when the zip tie went on and to the million smoldering little looks and innuendos Root has shot her way over the course of their brief acquaintance. Okay, so she probably knows what Root was thinking. Root has been perfectly, embarrassingly open about what her thoughts are regarding Shaw since pretty much the moment they met, when Root had that iron pressed close to her neck and that joyfully sadistic gleam in her eye.

Still.

Shaw rinses the soap off and contemplates what she’s going to say when she goes back out there. Normally, she’d just maim her way out of this situation, but normal has clearly gone out the window. The fact is that they still have almost nine hours to kill together without killing each other. The options are limited, and Shaw doesn’t trust herself to keep her cool through most of them.

She settles on saying nothing.

When Shaw finally opens the bathroom door after pulling on her clothes and combing her hair, she finds Root with her pants done up, looking mostly composed except for the fact that her face is still flushed and her eyes are still glassy with pleasure. She has the decency to look contrite as Shaw gives her a hard look that says, “We are not talking about or acknowledging this” and pulls out her knife to cut the cuff from Root’s wrist.

The “not acknowledging this” plan lasts for a solid four a half seconds. As soon as Shaw leans in to slide her knife under the flex cuff, she’s hit with the unmistakable smell of Root’s arousal. She breathes it in before she can stop herself, feels it settle heavy in her nostrils. To her surprise, something low in her belly clenches. She grits her teeth as she slices through the zip tie. It’s just a physiological response. It means nothing. Shaw is proud of herself for not nicking Root with the knife, even though it was tempting and she probably could have passed it off as an accident.

When the zip tie snaps, Root rubs her aching wrist, lets out a little sigh as her fingers skim over the raw flesh. Shaw never takes her eyes off her as she reaches over to deposit the keys on the table. In truth, she always kind of enjoys the sounds that Root makes in response to pain—the soft yelps and satisfied noises that key Shaw in to the fact that Root is like her, that she leans into agony and discomfort, relishes them. Right now, Root is lucky that that’s the case, because it’s taking the edge off of some of Shaw’s anger.

They sit in uncomfortable silence for awhile, Root looking at her curiously as Shaw towels off her hair and pretends she doesn’t notice or care that Root is staring. Again.

Shaw surprises herself when she’s the one to break the quiet. “I know that was on purpose,” she says slowly, “and I know what you were trying to do.”

To her credit, Root doesn’t bother denying it, just waits for Shaw to continue.

“I don’t like it.”

“Okay,” Root says.

Shaw turns to look at her after a beat. “Okay?”

“Yes, Shaw,” Root says. “I hear you, and I understand.”

Shaw huffs out a little sound of agreement before going quiet again. They don’t talk for forty-five minutes, and Shaw spends most of them trying to tease out what about this situation has her uneasy. Besides the robot-assisted masturbation, of course.

“I thought you’d put up more of a fight than that,” Shaw says eventually.

Root looks up at her, surprised, and her eyes sparkle with amusement. “Did you want me to?”

“Maybe,” Shaw blurts before she can think better of it, then frowns at herself.

Root’s smile is beatific. Shaw wants to smack it off of her face.

They’re quiet for another long stretch, and Shaw glances over at Root.

“I wanted to choke you earlier, you know.”

Root smiles at her the way Shaw’s seen other women smile when people tell them “I bought you some roses” or “Let’s go out to a nice dinner tonight.” The truth is, anyone else might apologize, or promise not to do it again. But Root isn’t anyone else. Root is Root, and instead of apologizing or making promises, she stands up and walks over to Shaw. She drops to her knees in front of her, looks her straight in the eyes, and tips her head back to bare her throat. Says, “Go ahead, Sameen." 

The shock of arousal that courses through Shaw at the sight of Root kneeling before her, offering herself up, makes her feel like her stomach has dropped out. She really should think about this more because this woman is unhinged in what might be a Fatal Attraction kind of way, but her throat is so pale and her eyes are so dark and also Shaw can handle herself just fine. She’s not worried about it. 

Shaw’s hand comes up to grasp Root’s neck hard, the edge of her knuckle digging into her windpipe. As soon as Shaw’s fingers tighten, Root’s eyes go glassy and her lips part in a way that looks downright pornographic. Root never stops looking at Shaw, just maintains eye contact and lets the desperation and pleasure play over her face like gifts that Shaw takes and takes. She can feel Root’s pulse hammering under her hand, feel the hitch of her breath as she tries to release the air from her lungs. She tightens her grip until she sees Root’s eyes lose focus, feels her throat trying desperately to swallow under her palm. She releases her without warning, then, letting her fall forward onto her hands, panting.

Root gulps air for long moments, and her eyes are wet and her pupils blown wide when she finally looks up at Shaw.

Shaw returns the gaze, her expression blank and probing like usual, and Root’s eyes drift shut for a moment before grabs Shaw’s hand and puts it back on her throat.

Shaw obliges her immediately, gripping down and enjoying the way Root seems to lean into her palm even as she’s biting her lip and struggling desperately for air. She doesn’t last as long this time, but Shaw can’t bring herself to be too upset about it. She’s so turned on at this point that it’s almost an ache. Root is resting her head against Shaw’s thigh as she gets her breath back, and Shaw can feel every hot exhalation through the fabric of her pants. She shifts her hips slightly, trying to review some of the pressure.

Shaw can see the moment Root catches the scent of her arousal. Her head snaps up, and her pupils dilate to the point that her eyes look black and dangerous. She catches her lip between her teeth and reaches for the button on Shaw’s jeans, pausing to shoot Shaw a questioning look.

“Do it, Root,” Shaw says, her voice hoarser than she’d like it to be, and then Root’s hands are everywhere, pulling at her fly, tugging her jeans and boy shorts down, and stroking over her thighs as Root leans forward to bury her face between Shaw’s legs.

Root licks into Shaw like she’s desperate for her, and her tongue is firm and hot and just _everywhere_. Shaw definitely doesn’t moan, but she does throw her head back, fist her hand in Root’s hair so that she can pull in her close and thrust against her mouth. Her other hand finds the seat of the chair, uses it as leverage to push her hips up, and, fuck, it’s been way too long.

Root is having none of it. She throws her forearm over Shaw’s hip to steady her, and Shaw is just about to protest when Root leans down and pushes into her with her tongue.

“Oh fuck, Root,” Shaw groans, and sucks her bottom lip between her teeth as she pulls at Root’s scalp. Root moans into her in response, and Shaw can feel it, feel the vibration resonating through her and the sensation of Root’s hot breath on her cunt. Root’s nose is nudging against her clit, and the nails of her free hand are digging into her thigh, and it’s so, so much.

“Root,” she breathes, her voice low and more needy than she will ever admit.

For once, Root doesn’t tease. She gives Shaw’s entrance one last lick before replacing her tongue with her fingers and leaning up to suck Shaw’s clit between her lips.

Shaw’s orgasm happens so quickly that it takes her by surprise, steals her breath and leaves her convulsing soundlessly against Root’s mouth.

“Fuck,” Shaw grunts out as Root soothes her through it with her tongue, and Root hums against her in sympathy.

They just breathe together after that, Shaw slumped in the chair and Root sat back on her heels. Shaw smirks when she opens her eyes to take Root in: her hair is mussed, her throat is red and splotchy, and she’s licking Shaw off her lips.

“I still can’t believe you did that,” Shaw says when she gets her breath back.

“What, licked your pussy until you came in my mouth?”

Shaw rolls her eyes. “No, Root. The masturbating part. Obviously.”

“Oh,” Root says, shrugging. She has a sated smile on her face as she reaches up to wipe the remainder of Shaw’s wetness off of her chin. “Yeah, it wouldn’t have been my go-to ordinarily. But, hey, needs must.”

Shaw raises an eyebrow at her. “Excuse me?”

Root rolls her eyes. “Come on, Sameen, did you really think I would just do that without knowing the odds? She ran the scenarios, and that was the one that had the best chance of working. She didn’t say how she knew. Maybe your internet history suggested that you have a thing for voyeurism.” Root pauses, looks contemplative. “Is that a spy thing, do you think?" 

The wave of annoyance that washes over Shaw takes all her control to suppress. How does this woman continually manage to get the drop on her? Seriously.

“When this is over,” Shaw says, her voice icily calm. “I’m going to punch you.”

“Looking forward to it,” Root replies with a smile.

Shaw keeps her promises.

 


End file.
